Tonight on the tram home from the train station – the one place where one can buy the necessary amount of English language newspapers for the week – I sat opposite a woman who had a really big vein in her eyeball. It was the sort of thing you’d like to take a closer look at, in disgust and wonder. Unfortunately, because it was her eyeball, it’s hard to do this without her noticing – which is usually the ideal method when looking at people on trams.
Why do I mention this? [Insert philosophical reason here.]
BEEN THERE, DONE THAT
Today I was at a bee museum. The small, fairly informal establishment in an old house that looks like it might not have changed in any way since 1990s. The pictures on the display boards have the old glossy-look of forgotten back issues of National Geographic; the proprietor loves his topic – bees – and will happily fill in on the details; there is a benign layer of dust; everything has a faded look of heartily-remembered establishment.
The technical language was tricky (all in German, naturally), but the stuff, the exhibits, were fascinating. Bee-keeping in Egypt, Switzerland, the Black Forest here; the evolution of smoking technology (from burning branch to hand-held gizmos); harvesting methods; clothing developments; books printed in Stuttgart in 1820 on the subject; and, as the visitors would hope, a bee-hive with bees in it that can be looked at thanks to Perspex.
It was a quaint little place, but very familiar